Sun & Moon - a contemporary romance (The Minstrel Series #1) (20 page)

“Honey, you’ve been abandoned by your father, abused by your stepfather, and you’ve felt rejected by your mother. It’s natural that you fear Micah will do the same to you. But has he shown any sign of that? Has he said or done anything to make you believe he feels superior to you?”

Katja paused at that. No, she couldn’t really think of anything specific. It was just logical, though. Only a matter of time. “Our stations in life are so different.”

“Everyone is equal in God’s eyes, my dear.”

Everyone may be equal in God’s eyes, but they weren’t in Frau Sturm’s. “You haven’t’ met his mother. She doesn’t like me, and she’s very influential in Micah’s life.”

“You’re afraid she’ll sway him?”

“Yes.” And to help Renata understand more clearly, she described their meeting. “She’s a force of nature, Renata, a roaring lion. Compared to her, my mother is a timid mouse who spends all her time cowering in the corner.”

“But, what are you?” Renata asked. “What are
you
?”

A tap on the door interrupted them. “Morning rush,
Schatz
,” Renata said. She patted Katja’s hand like the burning questions in her heart had been answered. Had they?

Thankfully, the busyness of the day kept Katja from constantly dwelling on her problems, and even though she felt like a hunchback in the spirit, in the natural she stood tall and wore a friendly face. She labored hard, especially when it was her turn to clean tables and sweep the floor. These physical tasks were minefields for her mind, and she had to work extra hard to keep her thoughts off Micah.

She was in the back putting the cleaning supplies away when she heard Renata’s voice.

“Katja, Katja!” Renata pranced toward her with a gorgeous bouquet of flowers in her hand. “These came for you.”

Katja froze to the spot. Renata held the flowers out—a mix of red roses, white daisies and sprigs of lavender—and Katja accepted them with a shaky hand. She read the card. “I love you. M.”

I love you.
His first declaration.

Renata smiled like a mad woman. “You don’t have to stay the extra shift, if you don’t want to,” she said.

Katja smiled shyly. Micah sent her flowers. He told her that he loved her.

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

Katja decided not to stay for her second shift. She was really lucky that her boss was a diehard romantic. At least when it came to other people. Renata excused her with a pat on the back telling her to go make nice with her handsome boyfriend. Katja smiled at her enthusiasm as she carried the bouquet home.

They were lovely, and the gesture was sweet, but could her objective to end things with Micah be swayed by a collection of flowers? There were bigger issues at stake. What was best for Micah in the long run? What was best for her? Were they the right choice for each other?

She turned her key in the handle of the door of Micah’s flat and found it was already unlocked. That was strange. Katja was sure she’d locked it on her way out.

Inside, she set the flowers on the table and went to Micah’s room to change out of her black and white uniform. She slipped into a pair of jeans—the only clean ones left were the ones with horizontal tears, exposing sections of her thigh—and her peasant blouse. She decided to keep her hair up in the high pony-tail the way she always wore it for work. The weather had warmed up over the weekend, and the afternoon sun pouring through the windows had heated up the flat.

She wondered what she should say to Micah. What should her position be now? It wasn’t just the flowers that had made her waver in her decision to leave, but Micah’s note.

Did he really love her?

She already knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was hopelessly in love with him. It was the reason her choice was so painful.

Her mind was thoroughly pre-occupied which was why she didn’t notice the figure standing in the hall on her way from Micah’s room to the bathroom.

Katja jumped back, startled. “Frau Sturm?”

The woman leaned against the frame of the bathroom door. That door had been closed when Katja had passed it the first time. Had Micah’s mother been here the whole time? She answered the question for her.

“Don’t look so surprised. I have my own key to my son’s flat.” She added a moment later for emphasis, “too.”

“What are you doing here?” Katja finally managed.

“I wanted to see for myself if you were just a visitor like my son claimed.” Her eyes cut to the room Katja had just exited. Micah’s bedroom. “Or more.”

Katja folded her arms in front of her. “And your conclusion?”

“Don’t play stupid with me.”

“I don’t intend to play anything with you.”

“Look,” Frau Sturm said, tugging on her suit jacket. “We both know what girls like you want from boys like my son.”

Katja stiffened.
Girls like her?
“And what would that be?”

“Money.”

“I’m not after Micah’s money.” Katja felt like she’d just walked onto the set of a bad daytime soap opera.

“Oh, please. Look at you! And look at this nice roof over your head. Be honest. Where did you live before you came here?”

Hot anger boiled in Katja’s stomach. How dare this woman?

“Don’t bother trying to scramble up a lie. I already know. You slept on the sofa of a flat not leased by you. Before then you lived with your mother and stepfather in a GDR housing project in Berlin. You quit university before you finished your first year.”

Katja felt sucker punched.

“So,” Frau Sturm continued. “Let’s go back to the money. What will it take to get you to leave my son for good? Ten thousand euros? Twenty?”

“Shall I just name my price?” Katja spit out.

“Please do.”

“I choose zero euro. Whatever Micah and I have, it has nothing to do with you. I will not be bullied or bribed. Believe it or not, money can’t buy you everything.”

“Mother?”

They both gasped at the sight of Micah standing at the end of the hall. Katja’s heart stammered. How much had he heard?

“Micah,
Schatz
, hello.” Frau Sturm pulled her face into a friendly smile like she hadn’t just been caught belittling the girl in the hall. Her stilettos clicked on the floor as she moved to her son and kissed his cheeks. He stood still, not returning her affection.

“I think you should leave,” he said.

Katja couldn’t tell if he was talking to his mother or to her. She stepped back toward the bedroom. Micah caught her eye. “Not you.”

He guided his mother to the front door. Katja could hear their muffled voices from her position in the hall.

Frau Sturm switched to English. “This is a mistake.”

“Then it’s my mistake.”

“She’s just like…”

“Mother!”

“And what is that thing in her lip?”

Katja scowled and pulled her lip ring into her mouth with her teeth. She was tempted to storm out past the two of them and make a big scene, but a part of her didn’t want to give in to Frau Bully.

The door shut loudly, and in the next moment Micah was back, staring at her again, an apologetic expression on his face.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“She hates me.”

“She doesn’t know you. She’s just really protective of me.”

Katja rolled her eyes.

“I bought groceries,” he said. “Can I make you dinner?”

“Micah.”

“It’s not Tuesday yet. If you leave tomorrow, this will be our last night. At least have dinner with me.”

Micah’s eyes were so kind and pleading. Katja felt her anger melt a little. “You’ve made dinner for me so many times.”

“You’re right,” he said. “It’s your turn to make it.”

She snorted. “Do you have a death wish?”

“No, actually. And I’d like to see you live another day as well. I think you need a lesson.”

She folded her arms and leaned against the wall. “You think you can teach me to cook?”

He cocked his head. “I’d like to try.”

Katja couldn’t resist Micah’s charms and had, against her better judgment, agreed to the cooking lesson. What she needed was to hide away from Micah, to somehow escape the undeniable pull he had on her. Instead, she’d just signed up for more emotional torture.

She was her own worst enemy.

Micah scooped up the remote and turned on a satellite radio station that played soft jazz. Katja silently moaned. Romantic music? She really was in trouble.

She followed Micah into the kitchen where he turned on the taps and washed his hands. He offered her the soap. She tried to keep her distance, but there was only one tap, and Micah didn’t seem to be in any hurry to finish rinsing his hands. She kept a good half meter between them and stubbornly waited until he left his position by the sink. “What are you going to teach me to make?”

“Something simple. Pasta with braised vegetables and sheep cheese.”

“Well, we both know I’m lousy at cooking pasta. What’s the big secret?”

Micah smirked. “Slow down, young chef. One thing at a time.” He opened a cupboard door. “First, you need the right pot. Uncooked pasta must have room to expand. You want to cover it with water without filling it more than three-quarters full. You don’t want it to boil over.”

Hmm
. That was one of her problems. She obviously didn’t use the right pot, or enough water. Good to know.

Micah handed her the pot, and she filled it, and placed it on the stove, turning the element to high. “Where’s the pasta?”

Micah removed a package from his grocery bag. “It’s here, but you don’t want to add it until the water’s boiling. In the meantime, we can wash and slice the vegetables.” Micah produced a small amount of fresh mushrooms, a zucchini and a package of grape tomatoes. Katja washed them and returned them to the cutting board.

The kitchen wasn’t that big, and Katja found it difficult to move without brushing against Micah at times.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered.

He stared down at her. “Please, don’t be.”

She started slicing the zucchini at the thickness Micah had shown her. Being in close quarters like this might be torture, but she appreciated the lesson. No one had taken the time to teach her how to cook before.

“Now we’ll sauté the zucchini and mushrooms in butter,” Micah said while scooping a spoonful of butter into a frying pan. “Turn it on medium, and throw them in.”

Katja did as instructed, scraping the sliced vegetables from the cutting board into the pan.

“You just need to keep stirring them so they don’t burn.”

Katja nodded and gave the vegetables a whirl. “What about the tomatoes?”

“Those go on top, later. Fresh, not cooked.” Micah pulled a bottle of wine out of one of the bags. “For the lady.” He opened it and poured Katja a glass.

She raised an eyebrow. “You were pretty certain I’d say yes to this invitation?”

He shrugged while pouring himself a glass of sparkling water. “I figured I had a fifty-fifty chance.”

The frying pan sizzled and Micah instructed, “Keep stirring.”

Katja did as told. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Did your mother like Greta?”

Micah paused until she looked at him. “No, she didn’t. If that makes you feel better. My mother is always rude.”

It did, in fact, make her feel better. She was glad to know she wasn’t the only one on the receiving end of Frau Sturm’s disapproval.

“The water’s ready for the pasta,” Micah said. He opened the bag and handed it to Katja. “You may do the honors.”

Katja smiled, despite herself, and poured the contents in. “How long do you cook it?”

“About ten minutes,” Micah said. He checked the package and nodded. “Italians like to undercook it by three minutes and then cook it with the sauce for the remaining three. The pasta captures the flavors of the sauce, that way.”

Katja was impressed. “How did you learn to cook?” She couldn’t imagine his mother stepping foot into a kitchen.

“We had professional cooks. I wanted to learn, so they taught me.”

He had cooks. She had a mother who could barely pull herself out of bed.